


strangers in a strange land

by Duck_Life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Panic Attacks, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Sastiel if you squint, references to casifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Sam tries to cope in the aftermath of Lucifer using him to get close to Jack. Cas is right there with him.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	strangers in a strange land

Up ahead, Lucifer is spinning some story for Jack, making exaggerated hand motions. His voice is loud and boisterous, and Jack is eagerly drinking in every word. Cas cuts his eyes toward Sam, walking beside him, and watches as he scratches the place on his neck where the vampires slashed him open. 

The scene flashes before his eyes again— the dark of the cave, lit by a couple of glowsticks. The way the phosphorescence glinted in Sam’s terrified eyes as he was hauled away. Dean’s screams, echoing in his head. And Cas had stood helplessly, and Cas had been unable to do a thing as his best friend bled out. 

The wound is completely healed over now— the Devil did his job well. Sam presses his fingernails against where it should be, leaving red marks on the skin. 

“Sam.”

“I’m fine,” Sam snaps back at Cas, keeping his eyes forward, like his gaze can burn right through Lucifer. 

“No, you’re not,” Cas says quietly. “Because  _ I’m _ not, and I haven’t  _ died _ in the last 24 hours.” The Winchesters share a stubborn refusal to admit when they’re falling apart at the seams, and Cas often lets it slide but he can’t right now. 

Watching Sam pretend to be okay while his torturer parades around playing father to Jack feels like it’s tearing Cas apart. 

“It’s…” Sam shudders. The shadows beneath his eyes look even starker in the pale light of this apocalyptic world. Several yards ahead, their son is latching onto every lie the Devil tells. It’s like drowning. (Or, no, not really. Castiel has drowned. This is worse.) “Cas, we’re gonna lose him.”

“No, we won’t,” Cas says firmly, though he’s mostly just playing a role. Saying what he thinks Dean might say.  _ Everything will be fine. We’ll get through this. It’s going to be okay _ . Little lies that make it easier to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sam deserves better words, better reassurances, but Castiel doesn’t have them. 

“He has no clue,” Sam says, grinding his jaw like he has to hold himself back from surging ahead and standing between Jack and Lucifer. “Lucifer’s telling him he’s just been misunderstood, all this time. Telling him… and Jack’s too nice for his own damn good. It’s too easy for him to see  _ good _ where there’s nothing but evil.”

“Don’t resent him for that,” Cas says softly. “That’s all Kelly. And it’s… it’s what makes him  _ Jack _ .” Sam ducks his head, agreeing. 

  
  


They’ve both known, feared, that this day would come. That Lucifer would one day find Jack, would try to forge a bond with him. And strong as they might be, Cas and Sam both know firsthand how powerful the Devil is. If they couldn’t protect Jack from him forever, they could try to give him the tools he needs to protect himself. 

“We taught him well, Sam,” Cas reminds him. “We did, Mary did. He’s smart. He’ll see Lucifer for who he really is.”

“You believe that?”

“I have faith.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “How’s that gone for you in the past?” He’s bitter, he’s scared. He knows he’s probably being unfair to Castiel but he can’t help it. The Devil is walking alongside his son, filling the boy’s head with beautiful lies and promises and poison, and there’s not a damn thing Sam can do to stop it. 

Because of him. That’s the truth he’s been hiding from, in his own heart and in his own head. That Sam is responsible for this. He led Lucifer into the camp, made it possible for him to get close to Jack. 

Because Sam is close to Jack, and Lucifer will always find a way to get his hooks into Sam. Before the Cage, in it and after. And now. And always. “I didn’t want him to bring me back, Cas,” he blurts out, knows Dean wouldn’t let him talk like this. Like it’s his fault (it is,  _ of course _ it is.) “I wanted to just lie down, I wanted— and I didn’t care, Cas, Heaven or Hell, it didn’t  _ matter _ . I was done, and Jack was going home. And now—”

“It’s not your fault,” Cas says. “You don’t have to feel guilty for being alive.” 

“The fucker knows how to play me,” Sam snaps, eyes darting forward to Lucifer’s back before he looks back down. “He  _ knew _ Jack would be happy to see me. I’m his… I’m his  _ gift _ to Jack. So now Jack’s all— thinks Lucifer is some kind of misunderstood hero. Because of  _ me _ .” 

“Because of how Lucifer used you,” Cas corrects gently. 

“How come he can still… ?” Sam mumbles, eyes flicking ahead and back down frantically. His thumb finds the old scar on his palm, presses in, but it’s not good enough and he goes back to picking at the dried blood on his neck. “No matter what I do, no matter what happens,” Sam says, dimly aware of his voice breaking, of his breathing growing faster and faster. “He comes back and he controls me. And I can’t— he’s gonna take Jack away,  _ hurt him _ , and I couldn’t stop it, it’s my fault, Cas, it’s all my fault—” 

The ground shifts and spins, and there are hands on his shoulders. Sam flinches and tries to jerk away before he hears Castiel’s voice (or Lucifer’s? No… no, not anymore. Cas and only Cas) speaking to him lowly. 

He hears Cas tell other members of their group to keep walking, don’t worry. Cas’s hand pries his hand away from his neck. He feels blood under his fingernails. His chest hurts. 

“You’re okay, Sam,” Cas promises, trying to hold his gaze. “I’m right here. Can you breathe with me?” 

Sam tries. He tries to match Cas’s even breaths, in, hold, out, in, hold out, but then he hears Jack up ahead, his voice carrying as he asks, “What’s wrong with Sam?” 

And then Lucifer, scathing, mocking— “What  _ isn’t _ ? Jack, I know you don’t want to hear this but your favorite babysitter’s not exactly all there in the brains department. Lotta bats in that belfry.” 

Sam’s hands are shaking. Or maybe all of him is? He’s looking down at the dirt, looking at the blood on his jeans and the dead leaves he’s kneeling in as he tries to reign himself in. He can do this,  _ knows _ he can do this, but… 

But it’s a lot harder to make it through a panic attack when the thing causing it is still right there, gloating. 

Castiel’s voice again. “He’s okay, Jack, don’t worry.” The comfort and sureness of a father. And then he addresses Lucifer. “Keep walking. You don’t need to be holding up the group.”

“Looks like Sammy’s the one—”

“Keep. Walking.” Castiel is firm and unwavering. Sam wants to say that they should try to start walking again, they should keep up with Lucifer and Jack to make sure they know whatever lies Lucifer’s telling, but his mouth won’t work. His spit tastes sweet, like he’s going to cry, and he’s thinking,  _ Please, I don’t want to cry in front of Jack _ because somehow that feels worse than crying in front of Lucifer (not like it would be the first time), and then he hears the crunch of footsteps.

They’re walking away. 

It’s just him and Cas now, as the group walks forward.

“I’m okay,” Sam says finally, still staring down at the ground. “I’m okay. We should keep walking.” 

“You’re not okay,” Cas says. “And you’ve got long legs. It won’t take us long to catch up. When you’re ready.” 

Cas breathes, and Sam breathes with him. Tries to put himself back together. There will be time for this later, when everyone is home safe and there isn’t a clock running.  _ Pull yourself together, dammit _ . 

Cas moves slowly, telegraphing his movements, and he puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. A grounding point of contact. “You’re right. The… ‘fucker’ knows how to play you. And he did. And that wasn’t your fault. Nothing he says or does is your fault, Sam.” 

Sam cuts his eyes toward Cas, hears the words. Lets them sink in. (Tries not to think about what they sound like, about other conversations he’s had with Cas, late at night when both of them are commiserating about shared trauma and shared nightmares and shared violations. Tries not to think about Cas’s voice laughing and Cas’s face smiling and Cas’s hand plunging into his chest.) “Thanks, Cas,” he says quietly. 

Sam swigs water from his canteen. He rubs the corner of his jacket between his thumb and forefinger, trying to feel in-control. Trying to feel real. 

The group becomes small in the distance, but not too far away. No need to worry. They have time, not a lot of it, but enough. Enough for Sam to feel his heart rate recede and his breathing go back to normal. Enough for the dizzying spiral of anxiety in his head to become a more predictable circle of worries and fears. 

Rational. Functional. 

“I… we can start walking again,” Sam tells Cas finally, pushing himself upward. Cas stands and offers him a hand, helps him regain his footing. “And… thanks.” 

“Of course,” Cas says. 

They walk, side by side, toward Dean and Mary and the rest of their group. Toward Lucifer and Jack. 

Toward, eventually, home. 


End file.
